When I Think of You
by Crengels
Summary: Until I was eight, my entire life consisted of dinner parties. Dinner parties, uncomfortable dress robes, house-elves, manors, and wildy expensive furnishings.  Blood purity, arrogance, and dark magic. And Regulus Black. Perhaps I should explain. RB/OC.
1. Chapter 1

Until I was eight, my entire life consisted of dinner parties. Dinner parties, and cocktail parties, and stiff, uncomfortable dress robes. House-elves, and manors, and wildy expensive furnishings. Blood purity, and arrogance, and dark magic. And Regulus Black.

Perhaps I should explain.

My name is Phaedra Aldebaran. You've never heard of the Aldebarans? Then you must be muggleborn. Please don't think I'm being full of myself, for that's not it at all. It's only that I come from one of the oldest pure-blood lines there is. There _was_, I should probably say.

My father, Aeolus Aldebaran, was Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Yes, that's correct. If you're a muggle—though I can't see why in Merlin's name you would be reading this, should that be the case—Britain's Home Office is a rough equivalent. I say 'was' because his post was given to a numbskull wizard called Barty Crouch when I was eight.

My mother, Echidna Aldebaran, stayed at home with me most of the time—when she wasn't staying out all hours of the night or locking herself in her rooms for days at a time. She was a proper harpy. It was my mother that taught me most of the spells I'd known by the time I'd begun my schooling at Hogwarts. What with her somewhat unreliable presence, this was far from the education that other children my age were receiving from their parents. And far below the caliber of learning that I, as an Aldebaran, should have been required to receive. It's not that she tried to keep me from learning. She just couldn't be bothered.

I loathed her.

Frankly, with our riches, I don't see why I didn't have tutors. I hope you understand when I say that we were wealthy. Beyond wealthy. Three Gringotts vaults each in either of my parents names, and one begun for me as soon as they knew my mother was carrying me.

I got my father's looks, which I hated at first but grew to be thankful for. The grey-green Aldebaran eyes, the naturally tanned skin, the stick-straight, honey-colored hair. My mother was what they call a 'dark beauty': her skin was pale as all get-out but her hair was blacker than coal, her lips a vivid red, her eyes so dark brown that they seemed black, too. She was all curves, a body of hills and valleys. She was exquisite. I looked nothing like her. Not that I'm horrid, by any means—I'm quite pretty, if I do say so myself. But I have nothing on my mother.

Oh, and I had a brother. Cyrus. He was five years younger than me, and a right little snot.

My time was spent, for the most part, sitting quietly at the end of the dining room table while my parents entertained guests. If he or she was a well-known wizard or witch, chances are they had come round our manor for dinner at some point or another. Nobby Leach, retired Minister of Magic (you might have heard of him, he got a bit of nasty publicity over the Squib Rights marches—keeping this between you and me, my mother was one of the pure-bloods who rioted during those marches…harpy, remember?) was our guest more times than I can recall.

More regular visitors included, of course, the Malfoys, the Bulstrodes, the Lestranges, the Selwyns, the Notts…even the Prewetts and the Longbottoms (my mother wasn't thrilled, let me tell you). You name the renowned wizarding family, we'd had them for tea, at least. Hell, if they were pure-bloods, they were our guests.

And of course, the Blacks. At least once a week, our halls were graced by the 'Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.' I grew up with them. Andromeda—she was the oldest, and my favorite—taught me to read. Narcissa showed me how to spell my hair up and pretty myself with charms. Bellatrix taught me how to shift blame to anyone but myself. And Sirius and Regulus, being closer to my age, taught me everything else. Sirius was nearly two years older than Regulus and I—a fact he reminded us of frequently. He could be a right arse, Sirius, and he was, most of the time.

But Regulus. Ohhh, when I was little, Regulus Black was my entire world. Until I was eight, that is.

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A/N: Please review!


	2. Chapter 2

Regulus Black was the one I played gobstones with (in secret, of course—it wasn't dignified for an Aldebaran witch to come home drenched in gobstone juice). He was the one I swapped chocolate frog cards with. He was the one who taught me how to fly on his toy broomstick—it was his fault that I broke my collarbone, but that's an old wound. He was the one I whispered my juiciest bits of gossip to, the things I heard whilst I pretended to be a mute and deaf girl during dinners. He was the one I told about my most secret, treasured things.

Needless to say, I thought he was simply divine. I knew I would marry him, too; we both came from illustrious families, we were the same age, our parents were friends—it was the perfect match.

For his part, I'd like to think that Regulus thought the world of me as I did of him. But we were only very small children, after all.

He could be positively wicked, just like his cousin Bellatrix, and I think that that was when I found him most alluring. Say all you like about darkness or sadism or what-have-you, it was when Regulus was ordering around house-elves or forcing gnomes to fight each other or making Narcissa cry that I liked him most. He could be incredibly cruel, and that was why I admired him so intensely. I should never have doubted that he could one day turn that cruelty towards me. But I misjudged how well I knew him.

Nearly three years passed, from the time that I was eight to the day I started at Hogwarts, in which I did not once see Regulus. Three long, lonely years of disgrace, of poverty, of constant whispering whenever we set foot on grounds frequented by wizards. We, of course, meaning my father and I.

I foolishly looked forward to that first day. I dreamt of it for three years, fantasizing my reunion with Reg. For surely he, greatest of my friends, would not heed the stories? Would be waiting for me that day, ready to pick up right where we'd left off?

Clearly I wasn't the most realistic eleven-year-old.

Not that I didn't have something to give me hope: the last time we'd seen each other, Regulus had seemed as confused as I had been. We were only eight, after all. We didn't understand what was going on with our parents. Well. _My_ parents.

His father had stopped in to speak with my father, at the height of the madness, and brought Sirius and Regulus along with him. The adults retreated into my dad's study for several hours, and we were left to our own devices. We went outside to toy with the garden pixies that usually swarmed harmlessly around the fountains on the grounds of my family's estate. Sirius announced that he was too old to play with us, and sauntered off with his latest Martin Miggs comic.

Regulus and I, unsure how to address the situation that neither of us understood, acted at first as though nothing was different. Until I made some vague reference to an adventure I thought we should undertake sometime in the future.

Regulus had snorted. "Fat chance of that," he'd muttered.

"Why?" I'd asked, wrinkling my nose at him.

"Well, I'm not to see you anymore, am I?" He'd said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"You aren't?"

"Of course not. Mum says that Blacks musn't associate themselves with muggle-lovers and thieving murderes." He'd puffed his chest out importantly at that.

"With _what_?" Regulus had only shrugged. I could tell he had no more of an idea what he was talking about than I did. But we both knew that he'd crossed a line. I _knew_ he knew that—at least, there was a kind of worry in his eyes that wasn't present when he was harsh with Delly, our house-elf. He knew he shouldn't be saying those things to me, of all people. His best friend.

"Well, that's not _me,_ is it? So we can still play. Right?"

Regulus had cocked his head to the side, considering what I'd said. "I suppose," he'd said slowly, and I'd smiled, trying to forget whatever ugly words had come out of his mouth just before.

"Reg, do _you_ know what's going on? Dad won't explain, he's been so angry, and I haven't seen Mum in days, and Cy's gone, too, and all our stuff's been magicked into boxes, and owls keep dropping letters all day long. And all these mean Aurors showed up the other night and wouldn't let Dad leave. And I opened one of the letters and my robes caught on fire, I think there was a curse inside of it!"

He'd patted my back, trying to make me less upset, though I could tell he was just as baffled as I was.

His father had swept outside just then and called him and Sirius, and they'd taken the floo back to Grimmauld Place. And that was the last time I'd spoken with him. Or even seen him. Until that first day, at the start of our first year.

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A/N: Please review!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Would that I were JKR.

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I searched for him on the train platform, my eyes roving over the many families gathered there beside the steaming, waiting scarlet train. I barely noticed the stares and sneers—those I'd grown accustomed to quickly, years ago. No, that day, the only thing I was concerned about was finding Regulus.

And finally, find him I did. I stowed my trunk into an empty compartment at the end of the train with the help of an older girl—she must not have known who I was, else I doubt she'd have given me a hand—and set off along the train, looking into compartment after compartment in search of my long-lost friend. I stumbled into one filled with older boys and tripped gracelessly, falling over their feet and nearly hitting the ground before a pair of hands grabbed my arm and yanked me up. I found myself staring into a pair of familiar grey eyes. Grey eyes I knew well, so well. Grey eyes that stared back at me in surprise.

The wrong grey eyes.

"Sirius?" I asked, startled to see him, though I suppose I shouldn't have been. I'd been so focused on finding Reg that I'd virtually forgotten the other figures from my past who I would bump into at school—Sirius must be starting his second year.

He frowned at me. "Phaedra?" He hadn't laughed when I'd tripped, none of the boys had. That should have been the first sign to alert me to how different he was from the young, snooty boy I'd known.

I nodded at him and tried to get my bearings. There were three other boys in the compartment looking on in interest. One with unmanageable black hair and spectacles, one who was sandy-haired and rather thin and weak-looking, and one a bit squatter with very dirty blonde hair.

"Haven't seen _you_ in awhile," Sirius was commenting dryly.

I tried to seem like I had some idea of what I was doing and stood as straight as I could.

"Sirius, you know her?" The black-haired one asked.

"Yeah, I…" Sirius looked at me strangely. "This is Phaedra Aldebaran. Phaedra, this is James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew," he explained, waving his hand at his friends.

"Aldebaran?" The blonde one echoed. "Like, Insane Echidna and the Axe of Doom? That Aldebaran?" The other two looked at me curiously, the Potter boy's eyebrows rose.

My cheeks colored at the phrase; I was more than familiar with it due to its propensity to pop up in the _Daily Prophet._

"That's none of your business!" I snapped at the dumpy boy. I turned to Sirius, sticking a piece of hair behind my ear. "Look, Sirius, I was just looking for Regulus. Could you tell me where I can find him?"

He was still frowning. "He's a few compartments down, I think. But—Phaedra, I dunno if it's a good idea—"

"Why not?" I retorted. "Like you'd even know. Last I heard, you can barely call yourself a Black anymore."

He bristled at that. "Fine," he said, waving a hand at the door. "Fine. Knock yourself out. But things have changed, Phaedra. Go find out for yourself."

I turned and left. What did he know, anyway? I'd never liked Sirius much. He'd always been a right arse. He must not have changed so drastically, after all. I caught a comment from one of his friends—Potter, I think—as I exited their compartment. "Fiery, that one," he'd said with a laugh.

I shook myself and continued along until I found what looked like the right compartment. I slid the door open to find a few boys of varying ages, and looked over them all. And there he was. Sitting in the corner, laughing at something someone had said.

_Regulus._ He looked different—he'd shot up a few inches, and his hair was longer than he used to keep it—but I knew him right away.

I felt suddenly overcome at the sight of him, and considered backing out, but it was too late now. They were already looking up, challenging me with their eyes. None of them looked particularly nice. There was one boy, four or five years older, with brown hair and cruel black eyes. Another who looked around Sirius's age and was greasier than anyone I'd even met. And another big, bulky boy who looked liked he'd never strung two thoughts together in his life.

"Yes?" Said the one with the cruel eyes, as if I'd trespassed on sacred ground.

"Er—could I speak to Regulus for a minute?" I chanced a glance at him and was startled to find him staring—no, _glaring_ at me.

"As if he'd want to talk to _you,"_ the greasy one sneered. "Aldebaran, is it?" I nodded, blushing fiercely. "Thought so." His sneer grew, and the other boys laughed unkindly. He turned to Regulus, who hadn't laughed but still glared at me. "Well, Black, what do you say?" The boy sized me up with his eyes. "Not much to see, is there? But obviously those Aldebarans will do it with anything. You could try her out."

Never mind the fact that we were only eleven. I grit my teeth and looked to Reg, pleading at him with my eyes. But a stranger looked back at me.

"Who'd want to try _that_?" He scoffed. "Filthy guttersnipe. How can you even bear to show your face?" He looked up at the others, who were chuckling. "I knew insanity ran in the family. Wasn't aware stupidity did, too." He glanced again at me, coldly, as if daring me to respond.

Which I couldn't. I stood there for a moment in horror, my mouth wide and gaping like a fish, gasping, out of water. And then I fled.

I was a brainless, naïve little child then. I banked—even after those years of nothing but rumors and odd looks and cruel laughter—_still, _I banked on the goodness of others. No. Not of others. Of Regulus. I knew he wasn't always kind. But I'd also known that he wasn't all bad, either, and I gambled on the good side I'd seen break out every once in awhile when we were children. I gambled on him remembering our years of friendship, and wanting to recapture them as feverishly as I did. I gambled, and I lost.

But now I've changed, as well. And I'm not that little child anymore.

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A/N: Please review!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Still not JKR. For shame.

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Those first years at Hogwarts were difficult ones. No matter how much care I took to appear unassuming, to keep to myself, to prove the rumors _wrong—_the whispers never truly went away. Half the school hated me because of what my mother did. The other half hated me because of what my father did.

I remember very clearly my Sorting. I'd stood there, first in a line of boys and girls my age, in the middle of the Great Hall. Oh, how I regretted my surname in that moment. If only I had a sickle for how many times I've regretted that name.

"Aldebaran." The witch who called herself Professor McGonagall read my name from a sheet of parchment and looked down her nose at me with her sharp eyes, nodding towards the stool that sat a few yards away. Noise ripped through the Hall—they didn't even bother to whisper.

"Aldebaran?"

"Did she say _Aldebaran_?"

"Hope she's not in _our_ house—"

"Like, _the_ Aldebarans? Echidna and Aeo-whatsisface? From a few years ago?"

"Too bad that bloodline hasn't been snuffed out for good—"

"Wonder which genes she's got—"

And so on. Cheeks flushed with shame—that day was truly not turning out well—I walked briskly to the stool and picked up the tattered hat that rested on it, sitting down and pulling the brim down over my eyes and ears to temporarily block out the rest of the school.

My father had told me about the Sorting Hat, but it was—different—than I expected.

"_Hmmmm, what have we here?_" A voice buzzed in my head. "_Another Aldebaran? Merlin, you lot have been around for a while…but where to put you…there's always Slytherin, like your parents…"_

_No, no, no_! I was beginning to feel a bit desperate. _ I'm not my parents. I'm not my parents_, I'd thought to myself as I sat, eyes clenched shut. _I swear, I swear, I'm not my parents. I'm not insane._

"_But your parents weren't insane, dear…." _The Sorting Hat said in response to my thoughts. "_Well, your mother was a nasty bit of work, but your father had quite a brain, and it seems you've rather luckily inherited it…but no, Slytherin won't do at all. Hmm…not a Hufflepuff, certainly not, you've got more spunk than that…Gryffindor? You've got the heart, and the courage…_

_Please,_ I'd pleaded. _Just put me somewhere I can survive._

"_You need a place where your skills can be sharpened, and you're well brave enough already, I'd say…no, I think the best place to put you is RAVENCLAW!"_ The final word rang out across the Hall, and there'd been some scattered applause as I took my seat at the table of my new house. No one acknowledged my presence.

"While at Hogwarts, your house will be like your family," McGonagall had said earlier. Well. So much for a 'family welcome.' But somehow I made it through that first day, and I've been trudging along ever since.

It turned out to be good that I'd been Sorted into Ravenclaw, I suppose, because my utter lack of a social life resulted in my spending far too many hours in the library studying. I'd trade a person for a book, any day of the week. A book you've read again and again, memorizing your favorite passages, won't suddenly change its ending. A book you love won't betray or disappoint you.

I can't say the same about people.

Luckily I managed to find a few friends, somewhere along the line. Both in my year and house. Ella was first. She was muggleborn, which probably explains why she bothered in the first place. Ella Sunnerbee was quiet, like me, but for different reasons. Whereas I didn't speak because I didn't think my fellow students worthy of my attention when I so obviously wasn't worthy of theirs, Ella didn't speak because she was the shyest thing I'd ever met. The littlest things made her jump, like when a door slammed too loudly, or something made a splash when we added it to our cauldrons in Potions.

It wasn't as if we even liked each other, to begin with. It was just that neither of us ever talked, and we grew used to seeing each other in the library alone, and gradually began to sit with each other and then to exchange greetings. Friendship followed naturally, if rather slowly. I think the reason she wasn't so averse to being my friend was because no one ever bothered to speak to her in order to tell her the reasons why she shouldn't.

Pollux Diodorus joined our duo, bringing my grand total of friends up to two, but not until we were in our third year. It was the first Hogsmeade weekend we were allowed to visit the village, and all of us remained in the castle.

I stayed because I didn't like the glares that shopkeepers gave me—even going to Diagon Alley once a year to get my school things seemed too much. Ella stayed because she didn't like crowds. And Pollux stayed because the day before, in our Transfiguration lesson, he'd set off a dungbomb in McGonagall's desk and rather than give him a detention, she'd just forbidden him from the trip. He was especially angry because his twin brother, Castor, who was in Hufflepuff, was able to go and had come over to the Ravenclaw table at dinner the night before and gloated about it rather loudly. You'd think you could count on your twin, of all people, not to rub something like that in your face. Again with the whole people-will-only-disappoint-you thing.

Ella and I had been sitting in one corner of the common room, the oldest students there save for Pollux, who was sprawled across an armchair emitting loud huffs every five minutes.

"You can stop sulking and join us anytime, if you'd like," I'd called over to him, my attention still mostly on the game of Exploding Snap Ella and I were playing. I didn't much care either way if he took me up on the invite or not, and I admit I was rather surprised when, ten minutes later, he dragged himself over and plopped down in the seat next to Ella. After a few snarky comments, I'd told him he could either shut the hell up or leave us alone, and he surprised me again by remaining where he was.

Somehow we'd struck up a conversation, and when everyone began returning from Hogsmeade, and any other _sane _person would have excused himself immediately so as not to be associated with the likes of me, he still remained. And we've been friends since.

In fact, I'm often more thankful that I have Pollux than Ella, because he's just such an easy person to be around. Sweet though she may be, Ella isn't the most interesting witch. With Ella and I, we rarely spoke, because we didn't have much need. But then Pollux came, and with him he reopened a door I'd thought had shut long ago. I became interested in the little things again. I re-learned how to hold a conversation. Even on our quiet days, Pollux chattered enough to make up for Ella and I. He didn't even really care if we listened. Mostly he and I traded insults about the other students while Ella rolled her eyes.

He had been friends with most of the Ravenclaw boys in our year, before, but he hadn't much liked them because "they were a load of insufferable ninnies who spoke like dictionaries and didn't even know the rules of Quidditch." When he said that, I refrained from commenting that Ella had no idea how Quidditch worked, either. Neither she nor I could afford to lose a friend. He was also too smart for them. You'd think that in Ravenclaw, Pollux would find people he deemed to be his intellectual equals. Apparently not.

So we were a trio of outcasts. Ella by default, due to her crippling social anxiety. Me by my ancestry, and the actions of my parents. And Pollux by his own declaration that he wanted nothing to do with most of Hogwarts. Oh, well. It worked for us, anyways.

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A/N: Please review!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Sadly, not JKR.

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As for the matter of Regulus Black, I wallowed in misery for the first month of first year and then shut that part of my life away for good, burying it deep down. Of course I couldn't help the odd stab of bitterness I still got when I saw him around the castle, or in lessons. But hopes of rekindling our childhood friendship? Those had been slaughtered the moment he'd run his mouth off at me in front of his cronies. I wasn't surprised when he was sorted into Slytherin. It suited a snake like him.

Thinking back on my previous six years at Hogwarts, they all seem to blur together because nothing particularly special ever happened to me. Yes, there was the time in fifth year when we had a Yule Ball and Typhon Avery sent me a Howler at breakfast listing the reasons why I was "a filthy, undateable wench" for the whole school to hear.

Or when, in third year and we'd been learning about grindylows, our professor had taken us down to the lake for some "hands-on learning" and we'd all had a nice swim in the freezing black waters. Lucky girl that I was, I got to enjoy having an Impedimenta Jinx cast on me on my way back up to the surface, preventing me from breaking free of the water. Fun activity, nearly drowning is. I do _so_ love having to be revived from a blue, comatose state. Never found out who cast that one, either.

Oh, and there's the small matter of having to don gloves every time I open my mail because of the sheer number of letters I've gotten that've been filled with undiluted bubotuber pus. I tell you, it's really thrilling, the life of a social outcast.

So I suppose there are moments that stand out. But none of them are very fond memories. Mostly my time has been filled with Ella, Pollux, Transfiguration, and Ancient Runes. I study hard in every class, of course—Ravenclaw, remember?—but it's Transfiguration I'm best at, and Ancient Runes is my favorite.

It's always been interesting to observe the Slytherins, because so many of them were fixtures in my past life. Bellatrix Black was a seventh when I was a first, thankfully, so I only had to endure a year of her creative—and painful—curses. Simon Selwyn, who we'd often had to dinner with his parents and older siblings, was five years older than me. Only two years of his putting doxy eggs in my pumpkin juice. The boys who had been with Regulus that day on the train had turned out to be Janus Mulciber, who was four years older, Severus Snape, who was in the same year as Sirius, and Pritchard Goyle, in my year.

Sirius, surprisingly, was one of the few people that would nod at me in the corridors on a regular basis. Perhaps he felt some kind of connection to me, because his home life was pretty screwed up too. Or maybe he was just being kind. It was always strange to see him with the Gryffindor crowd rather than the Slytherins, where most of the people I'd have associated him with were. Full of surprises, that one.

By the time we'd reached seventh year, only the usual suspects were left to terrorize me. Regulus, of course, who never missed an opportunity to make my life a misery. It was like, even after all these years of torture, he still felt the need to be mercilessly cruel so no one would suspect we'd once shared cauldron cakes on his bedroom floor. Then there was Goyle, who made up for his lack of brains with his overabundance of muscles and sinew. Not to mention a Slytherin girl called Selma Frint who was A) Regulus's girlfriend and B) a heinous bitch.

Not that there weren't people in other houses that weren't out for my blood. Add a few humble Hufflepuffs championing the cause of blood equality, some infuriating Gryffindors 'defending the weak,' and most of the rest of my own house, and you've got an amalgamation of witches and wizards that, given the chance, would happily Hex Phaedra Into Oblivion (it's a wonder I've still got all my vital organs, let me tell you).

So yes. It's been a scream. Sometimes I wonder if I should "pull a Mum" and really go mental on everyone and do exactly the things they've been saying I will for six years. Just, you know, to spice it up a bit. Clearly, my general dislike of humanity has been misinterpreted as an inclination to go on a murderous rampage. Doesn't that just take the bloody cake.

As for my love life—well. I can honestly say I never expected anything to happen during my Hogwarts years. So it caught me by immense surprise when, in the middle of sixth year, Pollux kissed me one night when we were alone in the Ancient Runes classroom, translating some ancient Greek texts (for fun). Perhaps he never questioned it, and considered it a natural progression of our friendship. But it took him the better part of two months to convince me he wasn't playing a huge prank on me (what can I say, I'm a suspicious, untrusting person—you would be too).

And we've been together since. I'm not sure if anyone else even realizes, since we were already always together, and no one gives a hippogriff's ass about either of us, anyway. Ella knows, and while sometimes I think she feels—left out, I suppose—I sort of get the feeling most of the time that she'd expected it, as well.

Anyway, I guess I lucked out, because Pollux is actually quite good-looking, something I hadn't even noticed until he kissed me. He's tall but not so tall that it makes snogging uncomfortable, with a shining blonde halo of hair and big, chocolate brown eyes ringed with thick lashes. He wears horn-rimmed glasses, and sometimes he doesn't bother to do his tie in the morning so it just hangs, bronze and blue, around his neck until a professor tells him to fix it. His hair is usually messy, I suppose because he's got grander things on his mind than his appearance, and his robes usually a tad crooked.

I think that by now he's the only person in the world, other than my father, that I truly care about. I realize this sounds harsh towards Ella, but our friendship was always more one of convenience than actual like-mindedness or affection. I suppose I've always thought of it as a kind of throwaway friendship, which might be considered horrible, but to me it's just realistic. I honestly don't expect to see her once we finish school. A date which, thank Merlin and Circe and every other powerful wizard or witch, is nearly in my grasp.

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A/N: Please review!


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Not JKR. Meh.

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_Septe__mber 17__th__, 1978_

I expect you've all been in one of these situations at some point or another. The kind where your professor does something that makes you scratch your head and think, "Excuse me, Professor McGonagall, but blimey, you really haven't got a clue, have you?"

I mean, the woman's name is _Minerva. _I realize it's probably a bit much to live up to, being named for the goddess of wisdom and all, but you'd think it would at least guarantee _some_ semblance of common sense...but as I learned in class today when she assigned us into groups and paired me with Selma Frint and Ella with _Pritchard Goyle_, apparently that is not the case.

We Ravenclaws have always had our Transfiguration lessons with the Slytherins, but never before has McGonagall demonstrated such a mindless desire to play devil's advocate. To be sure, I can most definitely hold my own with Frint the Fuck-tard, but Ella having to work with Goyle? The man is going to crush her. Literally. I didn't used to think it was possible to have hands roughly the size and weight of sledgehammers, but then again, Pritchard Goyle defies a lot of expectations I used to hold about the world—usually in terms of an individual's capacity for sheer idiocy. Yes, he continues to alarm me on a weekly basis with his complete lack of intelligence.

More to the point, though, I genuinely fear for Ella's safety on this assignment (which is to research medieval Transfiguration spells that have fallen out of use, pick one, and modernize it, presenting to the class on how it could be applicable in our time...joy of joys). The only evidence that Ella has a spine at all is the fact that there must be something keeping her upright. Pollux and I had to talk her down from the panic attack she had after class got out, and we've agreed to be close by every time she and Goyle are working together…not that I expect he'll be doing much of the work.

Pollux, by the way, has been helping me brainstorm ways to mess with Selma the Slag. We spent our free period wheedling Professor Slughorn into giving us some Veritaserum…I would say I'm shocked that we succeeded, but for one thing the man is daft when it comes to anything of actual importance, and for another he absolutely _loves_ Pollux, so honestly I'm not too surprised. I plan to slip some into her pumpkin juice while we work on our assignment together tomorrow. Let's see what dirty little secrets the Slytherin princess has been keeping.

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_September 18th__, 1978_

_Well._ Today has certainly been enlightening, and I'm not at all sure if I've processed everything that I learned. I suppose I should begin with the easy things. We needn't have worried about Ella—Pollux and I were a few stacks removed from Goyle and her in the library in case anything went awry, but she handled it surprisingly well and only required a walk-by paired with a menacing glare from us once.

Frint and I, however…somehow I managed to convince her that working in an empty classroom was more conducive to a productive working environment than the library, so I was able to slip a drop of the Veritaserum we coaxed from Slughorn into her flask of pumpkin juice (I only needed a very small amount, for I wasn't expecting Selma to reveal anything of great worth).

Let me tell you, that witch can talk. Amidst the endless babble about her hair, her robes, and her sexcapades with Regulus (the nauseating details of which I will spare you), Frint let slip some _very _important news: apparently Regulus, Goyle, and several other of the Slytherin idiots in my year are to be "inducted" this Christmas. Inducted to what, you might ask. It would seem that for the past few years they have all been training to become Death Eaters. Yes, that's correct. Death Eaters.

Things are bad in the wizarding world. That much is obvious to all of us. But perhaps I've been too naïve in thinking that while we're still at Hogwarts, at least, the horrors that go on beyond the walls of this castle can't really touch us here—which just shows what an idiot I've been, for of course the reverberations are felt here just as strongly as they are outside. I haven't been blind to the missing students—those whose parents have deemed their own homes safer than Hogwarts—or the rising death tolls in the _Prophet_. I guess I've just failed to add it all together. I missed the big picture here. For once I haven't lived up to the Ravenclaw standard. I neglected to comprehend the full extent of this Dark Lord's reign of terror (by the by, bet my mother's his number one fan).

So when Frint informed me of just how deeply involved Regulus and his cronies are and have been for several years, _at least_, it did rock me a bit to my core. I wonder if that was one of the reasons Sirius left home a while back? Could he just not bear to see his younger brother so wrapped up in this pureblood-mania nonsense?

This Christmas…that's only three months away. So immediate. Well. If there was any doubt before, it's utterly clear now: Regulus Black has really and truly gone over to the dark side. It's certainly true that I'm not surprised. But there's a gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach that I can't quite justify.

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A/N: Dearest readers,

I apologize for the lengthy break between chapters (unfortunately that's going to be the way of things while I'm away at school). But I am home for the next month and plan to work hard on this and ET.

On another note: I made an error (gasp!) when I made Sirius two years ahead at Hogwarts, so I've gone back and fixed that to only one year. Originally I had wanted it to be different from the age difference in ET (which is according to canon) but upon further study of the chronology of events in the first wizarding war, I realized that if I want this story to be accurate, Regulus and Phaedra need to be in the graduating class of '79. So. There you go. If you don't care one whit about accuracy, that's great. No harm done. You may have also noticed a change in the format what with the introduction of dated sections. The previous chapters as you may have noticed were all summing up Phaedra's story to this point and now that we've come to her present, I thought the most sensible format would be by date.

Right. That's all. Much love. Hope you all had fantastic holidays. I got a nifty swiss army knife. Please review! It would be a lovely late-Christmas present.

Harmoniously yours,

Crengels


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Not JKR. Bummer, man.

* * *

_October 11__th__, 1978_

A few weeks have passed since Frint revealed to me just how deeply involved so many of the Slytherins are in this Voldemort business. As a side-note, let me just say that the whole You-Know-Who/ He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named nonsense seriously pisses me off. I mean, come on! Nothing screams weakness more than an inability to address an enemy by his actual name.

Not that Voldemort must be this fellow's actual name, or anything…I wonder what it really is? Probably something mundane, like Arnold. Or Roy. Or Walter. Beware of Walter Jones! Now there's a name to inspire fear in the hearts of the meek. I'm quaking in my boots just thinking about it (bet Ella would be proper scared, though…I should really be kinder to her, shouldn't I? Ah, well).

Pollux surprised me the other day. We were up at the Astronomy Tower filling out our star charts, having a bit of a snog, you know, doing the things teen witches and wizards do, and suddenly he pulled this thin silver chain out of his pocket and slipped it into my hand. It was very fine, and on it hung a thin silver oval on which the rune for 'zero' was imprinted. In Ancient Runes, one of the first set of runes you learn are the numbers 0-9. The symbol for zero is the head of a demiguise, a creature whose ability to make itself invisible makes it an apt representative.

"It's because there's more to you than meets the eye, even though you'd have us all believe that wasn't true," Pollux said quietly. To be honest, I was quite taken aback. Neither Pollux nor I are particularly given to such demonstrations of affection, so they occur rarely, if at all. Such a thoughtful, touching gesture caught me off guard. I smoothed my thumb over the charm and handed it back to Pollux, holding my hair out of the way so that he could fasten it around my neck.

His movements were sure—there was an air of certainty about everything that Pollux did, and this was no exception. I've always loved how sure of himself he is—it's one of the reasons I'm most drawn to him—in fact, I'm usually drawn to people with high opinions of themselves…sometimes I think that there's nothing more attractive than confidence. Say what you will, but I hold the ego in high esteem. If Pollux wants something, he reaches out and takes it. But occasionally such certainty throws me off—makes me doubt him, even. At the very least, it puts me always on guard, for when you can't sense any kind of vulnerability in another person, you don't want to display any yourself.

But at times like these, Pollux's calm, matter-of-fact manner is comforting, because it adds a measure of familiarity to an unfamiliar situation. Such as this unexpected display of care. Once he'd fastened the clasp, I turned my head to look at him. I suppose he must have read the question in my eyes.

"I know we don't usually do things like this," he said, mouth twitching in a ghost of a smile. "But Phae—I just felt that I needed to make sure you knew that you really are an extraordinary person. I know it doesn't bother you anymore, the way everyone simply dismisses you because of what your parents did—which, by the way, is complete shit, but that's old news—but I wanted to tell you how much I admire your strength." He grinned, wrinkling his nose at the uncharacteristically sappy statement, but his eyes were still serious, peering out at me from behind his horn-rimmed glasses. "Actually taking the time to get to know you might've been the greatest choice I ever made at Hogwarts."

I was unsure of what to say, so I swallowed my confusion and surprise and smiled, leaning in to give Pollux a long, lingering kiss. As I was pulling away, he took my face in his hands and stared at me. "I love you, Phae," he said firmly, and pressed his lips to mine lightly.

"I love you, too," I replied. It wasn't the first time we'd exchanged the weighted words—that had been towards the end of school last year, on the night we'd first slept together. But we weren't as free with the declaration as most couples are. It's not something I ever questioned; I preferred our way—the words seemed to mean more when they were so infrequent. Our usually casual treatment of our relationship made moments like this all the more precious, and I treasured them (you may be laboring under the impression that I'm a cold, emotionless bitch—which is often the case—but I am in fact more than capable of love. I'm not immune to affectionate expressions or touches, you know…I _am_ a teenage girl).

So yes. That night threw me off a bit…in a good way, though. A very good way.

Anyway, if you'd like to know what I'll be doing this evening, the answer is serving detention with Professor Figwort. I may have _accidentally_ thrown a Snargaluff pod at Selma Frint in our N.E.W.T. Herbology lesson yesterday. It's not like I was aiming for her, or anything. It just sort of slipped from my hand and happened to soar through the air to hit her in the side of the head. Purely coincidental. The mess went well with her black hair and black heart, though, I must say.

Frint got a detention too, though, because by the time Figwort realized what was happening Selma had whirled around and cast a Jelly-Legs Jinx on me. I wish I could express to you the exact shade of crimson her face had turned in rage; it was quite impressive. So Figwort told us both to meet him in Greenhouse Three tonight at eight. I'm just going to slide right on by the fact that Frint used a hex on me that the rest of us stopped using in second year. I mean, Jelly-Legs? Really? Right, sliding on by…

* * *

I showed up at the greenhouse a few minutes early, before even Figwort had gotten there. I waited outside in the chill October air and tried to think of ways that I could mess with Selma during our detention. Perhaps I could use my wand to, ah…_guide_ the Venemous Tentacula her way? Or maybe I could set off a Mimbulus Mimbletonia when she's standing nearby. Merlin, those plants are foul. Stinksap is _not_ a substance you want to be coated in, let me tell you. I know from a wealth of experience at the hands of one Bellatrix Black. Merlin, I hate that witch.

Frint showed up a couple minutes later, and I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised, but Regulus was with her, walking her down to the greenhouses. I guess it makes sense, their being together, seeing how they're both attractive but vile people. Selma's quite good-looking, actually—she's got long, wavy black hair, pale skin, and dark eyes. Her looks remind me a bit of my mother's, actually. That's probably why I hated her from the start. They'd probably get along well. I'm sure Frint would be quite popular with more than just the Slytherins if she wasn't such a loathsome individual.

Regulus gave me one of his signature sneers as they walked up.

"Lovely to see you too, Regulus, as ever," I drawled as they stopped in front of me. "Decide to join our party?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he scoffed.

"Not particularly, no."

He glared at me. "Fuck off, Aldebaran."

I rolled my eyes at that. He's original, that one. "Thanks, but I think I'll stay. Got a detention and all." I know I should've held my tongue, but I couldn't keep the next words from tumbling out of my mouth: "In other news, I hear you're about to be a member of a pretty elite group."

His eyebrows shot up. "_What?"_ He asked incredulously.

"You heard me, Black." Bringing this up was probably unwise. If Regulus Black really was as close to becoming a Death Eater—as close to the Dark Lord—as Frint had said, I might soon be very much regretting opening my mouth about this.

Now Regulus was really glaring at me. Frint stood beside him, dithering about, her eyes wide, being useless as always. She may be pretty but she's really quite dim. "What are you talking about, Aldebaran?" She asked.

I do love Veritaserum. The fact that the person under its influence has no recollection of spilling the beans is one of the greatest things about it.

"Oh, you know, just the part where Reggie here and all his lovely friends are about to join Lord Voldy's club," I said casually. "Must be fun, getting to dress up in masks whenever you please. How many muggles do you have to kill to join, Black? I must say, I didn't have you pegged for the killing type. More of a torture-and-torment type, for sure." With every word, Frint's look of disbelief deepened and Regulus looked at me more menacingly.

"Where did you hear that? You have no idea what you're talking about," he seethed. Which was definitely true, I must confess. I hadn't the slightest clue what his world was like anymore. Only that he was an idiot for choosing it when he could've turned his back on the lot of them like Sirius.

I just shrugged. "I just hope you know what you're getting into, Regulus," I told him, surprising even myself with my sincerity. When was the last time I had felt any kind of concern for Regulus Black? When was the last time I had felt anything for him besides utter detestation? About six years, I suppose.

He frowned deeply and opened his mouth to say something when Professor Figwort bustled up to us. "Oh, good, you're already here," the short, stout wizard said, slightly out of breath. He looked at Regulus curiously. "I don't recall issuing you a detention, Mr. Black," he said.

Regulus turned to him, dismissing me. "No, Professor, I was only walking Selma down, wanted to make sure she got here alright." Professor Figwort nodded and entered the greenhouse. Selma kissed Regulus on the cheek and he turned swiftly, not looking at me, and set off back towards the castle.

The Herbology professor set us to pruning his Devil's Snare plants, which require quite a lot of concentration in order to avoid strangulation, so my hopes of messing with Selma had to be set aside for the time being. I had enough on my mind, anyway, my head full of the odd exchange with Black, despite my best efforts to think of other things.

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A/N: Thanks for reading! Please review! And for those of you who read ET, I haven't abandoned it, promise, I've just been in a bit of a writing rut. Things are looking up, though!


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